


Dinner Date

by Kira_K



Category: Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Smut, Vampire!Mercutio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5092286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kira_K/pseuds/Kira_K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tybalt allows himself to be pushed against the wall in the alley and smirks down at Mercutio. They are barely out of sight of their friends but Mercutio is a risk taker and Tybalt feels indulgent - for the moment. He is never sure if he hates or loves the other man; and while biting kisses and bruises pressed against his skin don’t help to decide they are much fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drcalvin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drcalvin/gifts).



> For drcalvin who likes Tybalt, vampires, and porn. I hope I managed an enjoyable mix of these... :)

Tybalt allows himself to be pushed against the wall in the alley and smirks down at Mercutio. They are barely out of sight of their friends but Mercutio is a risk taker and Tybalt feels indulgent - for the moment. He is never sure if he hates or loves the other man; and while biting kisses and bruises pressed against his skin don’t help to decide they are much fun. 

When Mercutio’s teeth close at his neck Tybalt snarls and spins them around, using his superior height and weight to force Mercutio into a more vulnerable position. Mercutio’s mouth doesn’t release him; it seems like he holds on with his wickedly sharp teeth far longer than is realistic. 

Tybalt swears and presses a hand against Mercutio’s throat, a threat and a promise both at once. It is enough to make Mercutio release him. He touches his left hand against the wet mark on his neck and frowns at the smear of blood on his fingertips. “You dare too much,” Tybalt murmurs and tightens his right around Mercutio’s throat, restricting his air without cutting it off entirely. 

“On the contrary, I dare barely enough.” Mercutio’s grin is red and he seems utterly comfortable despite the hard, cold bricks against his back and the powerful hand against his neck. “I dare to challenge you, Tybalt,” he adds and moves. His hands grab Tybalt’s ass and pull him closer, managing to unbalance the other man before licking up into his mouth with a wicked, wicked tongue. 

For a moment Tybalt doesn’t know why should he resist – then he tastes his blood and pulls back from the kiss to snarl at Mercutio once more. “Stop it!”

“Why?” 

“I am not dinner!” Tybalt manages to say despite his gritted teeth and the way Mercutio’s hips move against his own. He is wary of allowing Mercutio too much; self-control isn’t really the most defining character trait of Mercutio.

“Yet, you taste good enough,” Mercutio laughs, his eyes dark with want, and sneaks a hand to the front of Tybalt’s trousers to make the innuendo into something vulgar as is his wont. His lips brush against Tybalt’s cheek as he speaks, “Don’t you want me?”

Tybalt ignores the question and tries to ignore the insistent, groping hand as well as the sharp teeth that prickle his skin once more. “I thought the Prince forbid you from hunting,” he says, because one thing to calm down Mercutio for sure is the mention of Escalus. It works as a cold shower this time as well. Mercutio scowls, and pushes Tybalt away from him. Then he makes a show of licking his lips and teeth clean. 

“He forbade nothing,” says Mercutio, but it is a lie and Tybalt breathes easier as the bloodlusts fades from his eyes. “Were you to run I would hunt you like a fox hunts the rabbit.”

“I’m not a rabbit,” Tybalt says, more annoyed at the comparison than he should. After all, he doesn’t run from confrontations. If anything, he is a hound, there to catch the foxes. He rubs away the blood from his face with a gloved hand and he swears as Mercutio catches his wrist in a vice-like grip. Then he moans because the damned man licks his fingers, cleaning the leather. Tybalt’s blood rushes southward as he imagines that clever tongue licking somewhere else, and by the amused look in Mercutio’s eyes it was half of the intended effect. 

Then Mercutio pushes against Tybalt’s shoulders, and somehow Tybalt’s back is against a cold wall before quick fingers open his laced shirt and trousers both. Tybalt’s right hand closes around his dagger, his survival instinct catching up. “Let me,” Mercutio says and it’s unclear if he means the way his hand close around Tybalt’s erection or the way his fangs sink into his chest to make him bleed once more. 

Either way Tybalt allows it; or at least, he doesn’t make a move to shove off Mercutio, not with the way pleasure curls around his spine and his head spins from the blood-letting. He loses all sense of time; there is only Mercutio, the way he sucks and pumps—no, don’t stop, Tybalt thinks, says, pleads before he stumbles over the peak and has to cry out. 

Then it becomes too much, and he weakly pushes at Mercutio’s shoulders. 

There is a bloody smirk on Mercutio’s face as he lifts his head from the slowing trickle of blood and Tybalt scowls, feeling as if he were somehow bested. It makes him push once more at Mercutio’s shoulders, creating enough space to done up his trousers and to lace his shirt.

Mercutio damn him, licks his own fingers clean. “The best rabbit I ate,” he whispers before dancing away from Tybalt’s enraged cry and lunge, laughing and running away like the clever fox he believes himself to be. 

~end~


End file.
